


In Vino Veritas

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidental Magic Reveal, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Arthur gets Merlin drunk on purpose, Arthur takes it badly, Blow Jobs, Bottom Arthur, Boys Kissing, Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Dominant Merlin, Drunk Merlin, Drunk Sex, Ealdor, Episode Related, Episode: s03e04 Gwaine, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Magic Reveal, Makeup Kiss, Merlin is a lightweight, Merlin leaves Camelot (temporarily), Merlin's magic goes haywire, Merthur is canon, Mutual Pining, POV Arthur, Podfic Welcome, Present Tense, Resolved Romantic Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Submissive Arthur, Top Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After that evening in the tavern, Arthur has not been able to look at his manservant the same way ever since.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Vino Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> I am completely in love with drunk sex fanfictions, so I decided to try to write my own. This is also (to my knowledge) first fanfictions I’ve written in present tense, which I was actually rather scared about because I've never done it before.  
> I had originally intended this to be a short smut fic but my imagination went haywire _(again) ___and turned it into a magic reveal oneshot instead.  
>  Also, Merlin tops again, because MERLIN DOESN'T TOP ENOUGH ON THIS SITE AND IT AGGRAVATES ME.

“Oh, no, sorry. I was talking about your friend here,” says the barmaid, smiling at Merlin, and Arthur has not been able to look at his manservant the same way ever since.

Arthur has never had someone neglect his good looks in favour of someone else’s, especially not his servant’s, let alone Merlin’s of all people. Perhaps it is something that comes with being of royal blood, where people shower you with praises and probably only half of them are true. Anyway, Arthur is so stunned by the barmaid’s comment that he simply says,  _“Him?”_  in the most incredulous voice he can manage.

“Thank you,” says Merlin, smiling back at her, and good God, he’s actually  _blushing_. Arthur isn’t sure whether it’s from the compliment or from the implied fact that Merlin is more handsome than Arthur, but either way, he doesn’t like it one bit.

“Two tankards of mead, please!” he calls out imperiously, and the barmaid immediately remembers what she is here for and bustles off, her buxom chest jiggling all the way.

“I was wrong,” Merlin says with a grin. “Coming here was a great idea.”

Arthur has never felt more infuriated in his entire life.

* * *

Arthur cannot take his mind off that day in the tavern with Merlin. It isn’t just because of the bar fight and meeting Gwaine, for that was a whole other matter entirely. He just can’t understand it. Does Merlin really look so attractive to women? He has certainly never looked at Merlin that way, and is afraid of what will happen if he does.

“Rise and shine,” Merlin singsongs brightly as he walks into Arthur’s chambers, interrupting his reverie. Arthur feigns sleep and tries to calm the creases on his face where he has furrowed his brow. “Time to get up, Arthur,” says Merlin, smoothing back Arthur’s blonde hair. “Come on, or I’ll rip the blankets off you like I did last week.”

The threat makes Arthur instantly curl in and hold on to his duvet for dear life. He will not endure such excruciating cold ever again. Merlin laughs openly at Arthur’s reaction, and he opens his eyes. What Arthur sees is enough to startle him out of his sleepiness.

Merlin is backlit by the sun streaming in from the window, giving his hair and his face a texture that makes his skin glow. His dark hair looks almost blue in the sunlight, which is utterly bizarre in the way it accentuates the colour in his eyes. And what eyes Merlin has. Arthur has never noticed them before, the deep sparkling blue glittering with mirth. Merlin’s smiling down at him, and Arthur looks at his full, pouty red lips that strangely remind him of a girl’s. He wonders what it would be like to kiss those lips, to suck Merlin’s bottom lip into his mouth and glide his tongue over it. He then thinks about how it would feel to have those lips stretched over his cock, choking on his length while on his knees in submission to him. The scene is completely breathtaking, and Arthur spends a good few seconds openly staring at Merlin before he comes to himself and gets up, the covers falling off him. There is a stirring between his legs that he manages to force down with some effort.

Arthur doesn’t notice the way Merlin’s eyes make a slow path down his torso before stealing away to look at the wall, biting his lip as if he is berating himself for what he has just done. “Where’s my breakfast?” he asks, rubbing the remaining vestiges of sleep out of his eyes.

Merlin snaps out of his trance. “Um, here, sire.” He runs around a corner and brings back a tray laden with food. Arthur notices with a smile how Merlin has chosen all his favourite things to eat, and throws him an acknowledging glance of approval. Merlin gives him a small smile, and oddly enough, the action stirs something in Arthur’s chest that he can’t quite place.

* * *

 “Let’s go to the tavern, Merlin,” Arthur tells him the following evening, having nothing to do wandering about the castle and not wanting to go to bed just yet.

Merlin looks at him curiously. “Why?”

“Never mind why,” Arthur snaps a little more harshly than he had intended, and Merlin falls silent. “I’ve been completely bored out of my mind today, at least we can end this day with a little fun.”

Arthur knows that Merlin is not a heavy drinker, and he can see the hesitation in Merlin’s steps as he follows him to The Rising Sun. The last time Arthur ordered mead for them, Merlin had barely touched his, though that had partly been because of the thugs. Arthur has never seen Merlin drunk, but given his slight frame, he can make the assumption that it will not take much to make him so. Arthur realises that what he is doing is not noble or kingly in the least, but he quickly pushes the thought to the back of his mind.

“Back again?” says the barmaid as they enter the tavern, and Arthur feels a snap of jealousy at the fact that she is addressing Merlin when saying this. “I’ll just get the mead then, shall I?”

“Yes, thank you,” Merlin replies, and Arthur throws him a sharp look that simply says  _who gave you the right to make the decision for us?_

“Right then,” the barmaid says cheerfully and walks away. Arthur and Merlin find an empty table and sit down face-to-face.

The mead comes after a short bit of waiting and Arthur takes up his tankard, confident that everything is going to plan. “Cheers,” he says, bumping his tankard against Merlin’s, and arches an eyebrow at him as he raises it to his lips, challenging him. Merlin gives him a defiant glare and does the same, and both of them drink.

Arthur loses track of time after that, lost in a haze of calling for more mead and drinking until his stomach is fit to burst. It isn’t long before he notices that Merlin is smiling dazedly and moving his arms in an uncoordinated and jerky way. Unfortunately Arthur realises that perhaps he himself has drunk a little more than he can normally take, because he is feeling a little woozy as well.

“Come on,” he calls to Merlin, who smiles beatifically at him again before rising to follow him. Arthur slaps a handful of coins onto the counter, knowing that is probably much more than what they were supposed to pay for but not exactly caring. “Let’s go back.”

On the way to the castle, Merlin mumbles incoherently at Arthur and stands closer to him than he normally would. By the time they reach the entrance to the hallway Merlin is practically clinging to him like a limpet. Arthur can feel a slow warmth spreading through him that isn’t just from the drink.

“You smell nice, s’re,” Merlin slurs into Arthur’s ear, his voice low and his breath heavy with the smell of drink that is somehow pleasant when coming out of that mouth. “V’ry nice.”

“Thank you,” says Arthur with a barely contained smile. He had never pinned Merlin for a flirty drunk, but apparently that is what he is now, as well as one who blurts out random truths.  _In vino veritas,_ Arthur tells himself, remembering a lesson taught from one of Geoffrey’s many library books. The phrase would certainly apply to Merlin now as they make their way to Arthur’s chambers, staggering a little as Arthur sags slightly under Merlin’s weight.

They manage to fumble the door open and practically fall into the room, Arthur catching himself in time. Merlin laughs loudly as he almost trips, and Arthur can’t help but smile at the way Merlin’s clumsiness is greatly enhanced when his brain is fuzzy with alcohol. Merlin’s hand is still gripping tightly to Arthur’s wrists, so when he gives it a tug Arthur lets go of himself and falls down with him so they’re both rolling on the floor of his chambers, giggling stupidly.

“How do you feel, Merlin?” Arthur asks him as they lie side by side near the hearth.

“Exc’llent,” Merlin murmurs, turning on his side to face him. “Warm. Fuzzy all ov’r.” He sidles closer and Arthur’s breath unconsciously hitches. “Not as warm as you though,” Merlin whispers, and then his lips land on the side of Arthur’s mouth, evidently too clumsy to even kiss properly. Arthur lets out a breathy laugh and thinks  _oh, yes,_  reaching up to cup Merlin’s face in his hands so he can capture his mouth and nibble at his bottom lip. It’s a fun, playful kiss, albeit a little sloppy. Merlin lets out a hum and rolls his hips against Arthur’s thigh in response, and Arthur is shocked to find him already hard and wanting, his cock jutting out and digging into his leg. Merlin slides his hands down Arthur’s torso and grips his waist, fingers digging into his sides, and the feeling should be painful, but what Arthur feels instead is sheer pleasure.

“Get on the bed,” he manages to say in between deliciously thorough kisses, and they stumble as they get up, arms around each other. They collapse onto the soft mattress with loud grunts, Arthur on top of Merlin. He can feel his own arousal as well now, straining against his breeches and begging to be released.

“You’re heavy,” Merlin says wide-eyed, staring up at him, and from the way his body sinks into the mattress with short gasps accompanying his words, Arthur consents to roll off him so Merlin can have a bit of a breather.

“I’m fairly sure that’s treason, Merlin,” he teases, but then his last word rushes out of him as Merlin rolls over on top of  _him_  and presses him down, his tongue licking into Arthur’s mouth. Arthur lets out a highly undignified sound and responds enthusiastically, arms wrapping around Merlin’s lower back and interlocking his fingers so he can pull him closer to his chest. He had wanted to get his manservant drunk, but he hadn't expected this _._ Arthur tilts his head a little so he can mouth at Merlin’s collarbone, and the sound Merlin squeaks out makes his cock twitch almost painfully. When his mouth moves to Merlin’s ear, his manservant actually  _whimpers_ , fingers scrabbling at his breeches in an attempt to divest himself of them. Arthur helps, and it isn’t long before both of them are completely naked on top of the covers with their rumpled clothes strewn all over the room.

Merlin is a little less incoherent by this time, despite the fact that his brain is probably suffering from lack of blood from the way his cock is swollen and throbbing. Arthur wraps his hand around it and Merlin is ever so responsive, rutting into his palm with gusto. “Slow down,” Arthur gasps out, reaching under the bed and feeling around for the vial of oil he keeps there. His hand encloses around the cool glass bottle and he pulls it out with a triumphant grin. Merlin cheers, and both of them start laughing again.

“Wait,” Merlin says, and before Arthur can figure out what he is doing, he has taken the oil away and slid off the bed. For a frightening moment Arthur thinks he’s just going to leave him like this, but then he yelps as Merlin’s hands tug on his legs so they’re hanging off the edge of the bed. His cock is proudly sticking straight up in the air, and Merlin falls to his knees.

Arthur’s eyes widen as he watches those pink, swollen lips near his engorged dick. “Merlin,” he manages to say, but Merlin suddenly darts his tongue out and  _licks_ at the head _._ Arthur’s eyes roll back as his head thumps backwards onto the bed in obvious shock. Merlin opens his mouth and guides Arthur’s cock into his mouth, trying to take as much of it in as he can. Arthur practically shoves it into his mouth with uncalculated enthusiasm, and the action makes his dick bump the back of Merlin’s throat. Merlin gags, and Arthur props himself up on his elbows so he can watch. He’s a little worried for a second that Merlin might pass out, given his incompetence when trying to complete other tasks, but Merlin manages to control his gag reflex and does it again, swallowing when it hits his throat so Arthur can feel the way the muscles clench around his sensitive head.

“Christ,” Arthur chokes out. He must look so wanton like this, with his legs spread out in a wide V for Merlin’s benefit, just so he can scoot forward between his thighs and suck him. “I can’t - ”

Arthur’s orgasm takes him by surprise; Merlin does this trick with a swirl of his very talented tongue, and a blissful release rips through Arthur’s body like a tidal wave, consuming his senses and making his entire body shudder. Merlin’s mouth is still bobbing on his cock throughout, coaxing every last drop of seed out of him until Arthur is fully spent.

Merlin climbs back onto the bed, and Arthur notices how his movements are less jerky, now that sex has overridden the alcohol. It turns out that Merlin has stored the oil temporarily under Arthur’s pillow, so he takes it out and uncaps it. “Do you want to…?” he asks Arthur, offering the open bottle to him, but Arthur pushes it back.

“I’d like you to do it for me,” he says. Merlin’s eyes dilate even further, a feat that Arthur had previously thought impossible. Hands shaking, Merlin dips a finger in and reaches down. Arthur cants his hips upwards for better access and Merlin complies, using his other hand to spread his cheeks so his finger can slip inside. He manages to breach Arthur with a knuckle, and Arthur’s moans are filthy and guttural and completely shameless. Arthur has never let himself be so open with another person before, let alone a man, but the feeling is incredible and he can’t believe he hasn’t tried this before. He feels Merlin’s finger angle upwards and brush intently at something that sends sparks exploding in his head and short-circuiting all his thoughts, making him gasp. Merlin’s fingers curl as he smiles and inserts another finger, stretching them apart to loosen Arthur’s hole.

It takes a few minutes before Arthur cannot wait any longer. “I.” Now it’s his turn to lose the ability of eloquent speech. “I’m ready, I th-think.”

Merlin’s fingers pull out and Arthur barely manages to stop himself from crying out, he is  _that_ desperate. He lifts a leg and hooks it over Merlin’s lean shoulders before repeating it with the other, clearly communicating to Merlin that he wants them to do it face to face. A shuddering gasp escapes Merlin’s lips as he watches him do this, and Arthur notices a pretty blush spreading down to his chest. Holding his breath, Merlin grabs Arthur by the hips and edges forward, sliding in with one smooth thrust.

The effect is stunning. Arthur cries out,  _“Merlin – ah!_ ” and pushes down just as Merlin arches up. Arthur makes an effort to sound as vocal as possible, which isn’t hard considering that his moans aren’t fake at all, and the only thing he has to do is say all the things he would normally keep locked up in his head and accompany them with breathy, wrecked sighs. “Christ, it feels so good,” he says, and he can feel a sudden increase in speed as Merlin snaps his hips faster. “Wanted you for so long, Merlin. Harder… don’t stop, give it to me now…”

Before long, Arthur is screaming, actually screaming from the sheer amazing feeling of Merlin fucking him, and Merlin has to clap a hand over his mouth for fear of waking up the entire castle late into the night. Arthur moves his head so he can suck a few of Merlin’s fingers into his mouth, marvelling at the shape and texture of those beautiful hands. When Merlin comes, it feels like an explosion, and the sensation of his come spurting into Arthur’s tight heat is enough to make flashing colours dance behind his eyelids when he squeezes his eyes shut.

Afterwards, Arthur feels he has never been this exhausted in his entire life. Merlin’s eyes are already closed, and it doesn’t take much for the two of them to burrow under the covers and share the warmth of their sated bodies. “’Night, Arth’r,” Merlin whispers as he wraps himself around him, a leg possessively curling over Arthur’s hip.

Arthur feels content as the sweat cools on his body. The come that is now beginning to crust on his backside is perhaps not too comfortable, but he can’t be bothered to deal with it now. With the warmth of Merlin surrounding him like a cocoon, he falls asleep and loses himself to the world.

* * *

When Arthur finally wakes up the next morning, the first thing he thinks is  _Christ, that bloody hurts._  His pounding headache feels like someone is swinging a mace inside his head and repeatedly hitting the walls of his skull. He groans in pain, then turns over to see if Merlin is feeling the same.

He’s not. In fact, Merlin isn’t even there; the side of the bed where his manservant had fallen asleep the previous night is empty. Arthur slides a hand over the sheets and is surprised to find it devoid of any bodily warmth. Merlin must have left early while Arthur was still asleep. The only evidence that he has even been there at all are a few dark hairs on the pillows that Arthur can instantly recognise as Merlin’s, and a dark brown potion of some sort sitting on nightstand acting as a paperweight for the note underneath it.

With a Herculean effort Arthur moves over to his nightstand and picks up the vial holding the potion, identifying it as Gaius’ famous concoction to cure hangovers. He downs it in one go, gagging as the thick texture of the liquid sticks to his oesophagus on the way down. He knows it will be well worth it an hour later when his headache is gone. He picks up the note, too, and lies back onto the pillows, holding the note in front of his face with both hands. The hastily scribbled words swim into focus.

_Arthur,_

_I’m sorry, last night was a mistake. We both didn’t know what we were doing drunk. I’m your servant and your friend, not your catamite… I write this with a heavy heart, but we simply cannot afford to let this continue._

_Merlin_

_P.S. Drink the potion, it will help your headache as it did mine._

Arthur panics. The headache has receded somewhat, so he is able to find his clothes and put them on (with some difficulty, as it has been a while since he has done this by himself) before rushing off to find Merlin. A very perplexed Gaius asks him what the matter is, for Merlin has not been seen since last evening. He is also not in the kitchens, in the library, or even the godforsaken  _roof._

Arthur checks the stables last, fearing the worst. The stable boy tells him that one of Camelot’s finest horses had been taken out of the stables earlier this morning, and Arthur curses loudly, making the poor boy scuttle backwards in fear. Merlin has left Camelot, actually left, on a horse that is worth more than anything he has probably owned his entire life. Arthur doesn’t really care that much for the horse, but it is the fact that Merlin has not even explicitly stated in the note that he is leaving in any way. Arthur finds his own horse and mounts her, flicking the reins as they make their way out. He doesn’t even bother to tell King Uther he has left, for he knows that his father would never let him leave in pursuit of a lowly servant. So he sets off into the forest in the direction of the most logical place Merlin would go to – the village Ealdor, Merlin’s home.

It takes a few hours for Arthur to track Merlin down, which isn’t difficult given the fact that he has had years of hunting experience. He catches up to him in clearing near a small pond where Merlin has stopped to allow his horse to drink. Arthur silently dismounts and approaches Merlin, who appears to be completely oblivious that he is there. However, as he reaches about two feet away from him Merlin says, “You don’t have to try and scare me, I know you’re here.”

Arthur stops and replies with the first thing that comes to mind. “You took one of my best horses.”

“Correction: I borrowed it. I wasn’t planning on keeping it. And besides, you have fourteen other ones that are just as good, so why bother coming all the way from Camelot just to get this one back?”

“You know very well that this isn’t about the horse,  _Mer_ lin,” Arthur says with gritted teeth. “I didn’t sack you, so you are technically disobeying me by leaving.”

“So sack me,” says Merlin with a nonchalance that Arthur knows is fake, because he can hear Merlin’s voice trembling slightly. “I’m going back to Ealdor anyway.”

Arthur can't think of a way to reply, so after both their horses have drunk their fill, they travel together in complete silence. Arthur tries to strike up a conversation several times, but Merlin is uncharacteristically stoic and quiet, riding onwards without so much as a glance back at him. They make their way along a winding path, through a thicket of trees closely grown together, passing one or two clearings along the way. Eventually they reach a valley populated with a multitude of houses with smoking chimneys and villagers going about their daily tasks. Ealdor is lively and colourful with people, and Arthur can feel a good-naturedness humming in the very heart of the place.

For the first time in hours, Merlin looks back at him, and there is something foreign, something more than just hesitance in his eyes when he says, “Arthur, Ealdor does not obey Camelot’s laws. Remember that.”

“Why?” Arthur asks, curious.

Merlin sets his jaw. “Just – just keep that in mind.”

Arthur is thoroughly confused, but he lets Merlin lead him down the hill and through the roads filled with chattering people and laughing children chasing each other and darting in and out of sight of the houses. Merlin eventually stops at a house that must be his home. It’s a moderately sized wooden house with stacks of hay piled up on one end and several chickens pecking at the ground beside it. They dismount and approach the door. A small woman with a shawl in her hair and bare feet opens the door. Her face lights up as soon as her gaze falls on Merlin.

“Merlin! I didn’t expect you to come back so soon – you never told me you were coming!”

“Hello, Mum,” says Merlin with equal affection, and the two of them share a tight embrace that has Arthur looking away to watch two chickens fighting over the last bit of grain. He remembers Hunith well from the last time he had been here. He recalls training the villagers to help fight Kanen, and meeting Merlin’s best friend Will who died from a crossbow wound that had been intended for Arthur. Arthur feels a pang of envy. He knows that Merlin grew up with one parent, like him, but having a father is nowhere near the same as having a mother, especially when said father is the king of Camelot.

“Prince Arthur,” Hunith says, acknowledging his presence with a slight bow of her head. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Arthur isn’t very good at lying, but he comes up with an excuse on the spot nonetheless. “Merlin missed you and wanted to come visit, so I – er – decided to come along. Things in Camelot have not been particularly eventful lately, so I thought I would spare some time to accompany him here.”

Hunith looks at Merlin, who tries to act like this isn’t an outright lie, and nods her head, though Arthur is pretty sure he saw her eyes narrowing slightly. “You two must be famished,” she says finally. “Come in, I was just making soup. The harvest was particularly fruitful this year.” She turns, and Arthur notices that the sun is already setting, casting shadows across one side of the row of houses.

Arthur has yet to get used to simple village life, but he supposes it isn’t all that bad. Hunith gives him one of Merlin’s larger shirts that is slightly itchy at the neck but otherwise sufficient for him to wear. He looks a bit comical in it, he thinks, if Merlin’s stifled laugh is any indication, but it is the best he has. The soup that Hunith made is surprisingly tasty, and when Arthur calls for a second helping Merlin’s mother smiles exactly like Merlin did, her happiness open for all to see. They retire early and Hunith fusses over the state of Merlin’s hair, which has apparently grown much too long for her liking. Two beds have been laid out for them, and Arthur takes the guest one before Merlin can offer him his own, which is surely much more comfortable. After all, Hunith had not expected him to come, so it is only right that he does not make himself too welcome. Merlin mumbles to Arthur something about going to talk to his mother for a bit, and the door creaks slightly as Merlin pulls it closed.

Arthur isn’t fond of eavesdropping, but he’s too curious about what Merlin has to say to his mother  _not_ to. He creeps out of bed and listens at the door. At first everything he hears is muffled, but then a chink in the door allows him to hear much more clearly.

“Why did Arthur come, Merlin?” he hears Hunith say, concern etched into every word. “He can’t have just decided to follow you here; his kingdom needs him too much for that.”

“That’s what he did, Mum,” says Merlin tiredly. “I wanted to see you, and he wanted to get out of Camelot for a while.”

The long silence that follows tells Arthur everything he needs to know; Hunith can definitely tell her son is lying, but doesn’t push it. “Very well,” she sighs. “Go to bed, dear. You’ve had a long day.” There is a scraping of chairs and Arthur hurriedly makes his way back to bed as silently as he can. When Merlin pushes open the door Arthur is already beneath the covers, feigning sleep.

“I know you’re awake, Arthur,” Merlin calls to him. “You’re much too still and quiet not to be. You’re not fooling me.”

Arthur can’t help the smile that stretches across his face. He turns over to look at Merlin who has settled under his blankets, blinking owlishly at him. “Go to sleep, Merlin,” he says.

* * *

Arthur wakes up later than Merlin for the second time. He spends a few minutes just lounging there and staring up at the ceiling, too lazy to move. He can hear Hunith clattering in the kitchen with some pots and pans and Merlin’s soft footsteps.

“Breakfast is ready, Merlin,” Hunith calls, and the clarity of her voice tells Arthur that the bedroom door is open. He sits up in bed and is able to make out Merlin’s thin figure by the hearth. Merlin looks back at her and smiles, and his profile is so beautiful Arthur is reminded of the night they spent together just two days before. He wonders if he left any bruises on Merlin’s neck, wonders if he keeps them hidden under that blasted neckerchief of his. He feels a rush of something inside him at the idea of him marking Merlin as his own with love bites before he remembers that he can’t do that anymore. Merlin looks back at the fire, the hair on the back of his head slightly rumpled from sleep.

Just then, the fire springs to life all on its own, and Arthur nearly falls out of bed from shock. He can’t believe his eyes; there is  _sorcery_ in this house. He must warn Merlin to be careful, perhaps to leave right this second. Hunith appears with a smile and three plates of breakfast, one in each hand and one in the crook of her arm, setting them down one by one on the table. However, her hand slips as she reaches for the plate settled on her arm, and it falls.

The next few seconds seem to happen in slow motion. Merlin’s eyes dart towards the falling plate and a streak of golden fire burns in them before the plate is frozen in midair. Merlin jerks his head and the plate sails neatly on the table, landing with a bare clatter of porcelain.

All the air rushes out of Arthur’s lungs. It can’t be. Merlin can’t be a –

Merlin looks up and notices that Arthur is staring open-mouthed at him. He freezes like a deer surrounded by Camelot’s knight on hunting day, and seems to shrink into himself like he is the prey. A choked sound escapes his lips, and when Arthur makes a sudden move towards him Merlin flees.

“Merlin!” Hunith shouts, alarmed. “Merlin, where are you going? Come back!”

Arthur tears out of the room and bursts out the door after his manservant. Merlin is surprisingly fast as they race down the road and towards the forest where they came from, but Arthur is slowly gaining on him. When they reach a tall oak tree Arthur finally catches up to him and grabs the back of his shirt. Merlin flails helplessly and chokes when the cloth chafes his throat, and then Arthur has him in his grasp and is shaking him.

“You  _lied_ to me,” Arthur says, his voice ragged and dangerous. “You’re a  _sorcerer,_ and you never even thought to tell me _._ ”

Merlin’s eyes are shining with tears he will not let fall, but his gaze is defiant when he lifts his head to look at Arthur. “It’s not what you think,” he says, his voice shaky and a little higher than normal.

“It is definitely what I think,” Arthur shouts, grabbing Merlin’s neckerchief and shirt collar and throwing him against a tree trunk. Merlin crashes against it with a gasp of pain and slides bonelessly to the ground. Arthur steps towards him, his entire body shaking with rage. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t kill you, right now,” he spits. “And when you have, I’m dragging you back to Camelot to be executed at first light.”

The sound Merlin makes is pitiful as he looks up at Arthur, piercing blue eyes wide with fear. “I used my magic to save you, Arthur. I would never try to hurt – ”

“You don’t think  _this_ is hurting me?” Arthur yells. “The fact that my servant, my  _friend_ has been keeping this from me for  _five goddamn years?_ What were you even thinking?”

“I’m not evil, Arthur,” Merlin says meekly. “Your life has been saved so many times because of me.” His voice cracks on the last word, and a fat tear finally makes its way down his cheek, falling on the crease in his shirt where Arthur manhandled him. “I use my magic for good, Arthur. To protect you. I’d sooner die than have any harm come to you.”

“And why should I believe that?” Arthur challenges him.

Wincing at the pain in his back, Merlin gets up to face him, his palms facing upwards as he holds them out in a desperate plea. “Look at me,” he says, his voice soft. “I never lied to you, Arthur. I kept this from you because I didn’t want you to make the choice between executing me and lying to your father.”

“The choice would have been easy if you had told me that first day,” Arthur snaps at him, and Merlin visibly flinches, hurt flashing across his face. “Go on, humour me. If you say you’ve saved my life so many times, then give me proof.”

Merlin’s exhale is shaky and unsteady. One of his hands falls to his side, the other still outstretched. Merlin closes his eyes and mutters a string of words Arthur doesn’t recognize. The sounds are harsh, the inflections jarring his ears, and when Merlin’s eyes open and turn to a frightening, burning gold, Arthur feels he doesn’t know this person at all. A glowing sphere appears in Merlin’s hand in swirling white and blue, pulsating with light as it floats off his palm.

“Hang on,” Arthur says, stopping in his tracks, momentarily forgetting his anger. “That looks familiar…”

It hits him.

“I thought you were unconscious!” he says incredulously. “I went to retrieve the Mortaeus flower for you because you were dying!”

“I  _was_  dying,” Merlin says simply. The gold in his eyes has receded somewhat, which makes him a little less unsettling, but there are still flecks of light in his blue eyes. “Gaius told me that I conjured this in my delirium so that you would be safe.” His hand drops, and the ball shimmers for a second before fading to nothing. “It’s my destiny to protect you, Arthur.”

Arthur doesn’t know what to feel. His emotions are conflicted, his mind a jumble of thoughts. “So you’re only doing this because I’m your destiny?” he asks.

“No,” Merlin replies, and Arthur doesn’t know when he stepped so close, but now their faces are in such close proximity they are literally inches away from each other. “I do this because you’re  _you_ , Arthur,” he whispers, and it comes as no surprise to Arthur when Merlin leans in and closes the space between them with a reverent kiss.

When Arthur responds at long last, snaking a hand into the nape of Merlin’s neck and curling into the hair there, Merlin lets out a sob of relief and holds him close. Arthur’s cheeks are wet with tears from both Merlin and himself. They cry and steal kiss after kiss from each other, locked in an embrace. A few apple trees behind Merlin suddenly sprout leaves and burst into full bloom, and it isn’t until the sky starts raining petals that Arthur notices what Merlin is doing to the forest. “Merlin,” he breathes as he breaks away, his eyes wide with wonder as fresh green grass fights its way out of the ground all around them, dotted with bright flowers turned towards Merlin like he is the sun. A breeze carrying the aroma of daffodils surrounds them and caresses every strand of Arthur’s hair. He can do nothing but stare at Merlin in the centre of it all, so taken by the beauty around him and completely in awe of Merlin’s ability.

Arthur tries to compare this to something familiar, but finds he cannot. Instead, he thinks that if he were rain, Merlin would be a thunderstorm. If he were a snowflake, Merlin would be a whirlwind blizzard. If he were a gust of wind, Merlin would be a hurricane, because Merlin is a colossal force of nature rolled up into someone impossibly small for his abilities, someone who can move mountains with his eyes and command the elements to do whatever he wishes. When Arthur sees Merlin’s eyes open with that golden flame, he cannot help but think that Merlin is more magic than man, or perhaps even magic itself.

“Oh,” says Merlin as his eyes widen and he takes in the scene around him. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Arthur can’t help it. He laughs.


End file.
